


She Had the Makings of a Queen

by ElizaStormborn



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Smut, Southside Serpent Betty Cooper, Southside Serpent Initiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaStormborn/pseuds/ElizaStormborn
Summary: She danced for the jacket, but now, after being crowned as Queen, Betty must undergo the full Serpent initiation.There are seven laws she must learn, and seven challenges she must overcome. How hard can it be?
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/FP Jones II, Byrdie & Betty Cooper, Byrdie/FP Jones I, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 10
Kudos: 237





	She Had the Makings of a Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome!
> 
> Words cannot describe how excited and nervous I am about this story. It’s been a long time in the making, it's not only my first venture into the Riverdale fandom, but it's also my first true foray into writing after a 7 year hiatus.
> 
> By all means it is not perfect, but I really enjoyed writing it. I just hope you will enjoy it as well.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> This story in general can be considered AU, as the story heavily deviates from cannon after the mid/end of Season 2. 
> 
> Even so, I've taken a liberal interpretation of most major plot points up to this point, and while most have happened, the timeline or sequence of events may have been altered (this will be discussed as needed). 
> 
> OR: For any Star Trek fans, this story is in the Kelvin universe.
> 
> *
> 
>  **Also please heed the tags for this story.** They are there for a reason, and this chapter is **not** an exception. This chapter introduces some difficult/triggering topics that will run throughout the story. If these topics are uncomfortable for you, I implore you to read with caution, or click away now and find something that you are more comfortable with. 
> 
> ~*~
> 
> I'll see you at the end!

_Archie Andrews, U.S. Naval Academy_

_Kristen Atkinson, University of British Columbia_

_Cheryl Blossom, Barnard College_

Betty was thrilled for her classmates. Naturally, she of course was also proud of all her friends for being accepted by their first choice of university. After all, they had spent countless hours going over college pamphlets, giggling over which one had the best-looking seniors, and fantasizing over all the things they could finally do after they moved out of Riverdale. Only, everything was different now that she was sitting here in the auditorium surrounded by everyone in their caps and gowns. They wouldn’t be returning in the fall to Riverdale High, there would be no more free periods spent in the Blue and Gold, or cheer practices after school. Her walks to school with Archie would be a thing of the past, as would their after school group lunch dates at Pop’s. The conversations and daydreams that they had discussed were made real, each time a classmates’ name was called and the college they would be attending announced. Weatherbee was only a few names down the list when the gremlins of doubt took root for what was probably the 400th time.

_Valarie Brown, Julliard School_

_Trevor Burns, Massachusetts Institute of Technology_

_Emilia Cheung, University of Washington_

_Elizabeth Cooper._

The pregnant pause after her name was filled only by the sound of her heels against the linoleum floor, as she walked across the stage. But to Betty’s ears the sound was drowned out by the voices of her mother, teachers, and even the mayor, in her head. They had all felt the need to voice their concerns about Betty’s future projections at one point or another. It always started the same way: _“are you sure?”_ they would say before telling her that they were _, “worried that she would be letting herself down,”_ and how they _“didn’t want her to regret everything”_ or _“waste her potential”._

When her back was turned, they would whisper conspiratorially to one another, commenting on how they thought that her life had become a victim to her relationship with a Southside Serpent gang member. Every time Betty heard them, she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes – it was the only form of acknowledgment she would give such statements. She never bothered to correct them, reasoning that it would only fall on deaf ears to point out that Jughead and her had broken up weeks prior to when she rejected her college acceptances, and so whatever they assumed of his life trajectory had nothing to do with hers.

“Congratulations Betty!” Weatherbee said, shaking her hand as he handed her diploma to her.

Schooling her features, into a well-practiced Alice Cooper approved smile, Betty turned to face the audience, pausing just long enough for the hired photographer to take her picture.

Only she could hear the paper crinkling in her hands. It was the only thing that barred her from digging her nails into her palm.

Stepping down from the stage, she caught sight of Mr Andrews, who smiled and offered a thumbs up. Smiling back, Betty gave a short wave as she passed him. She hadn’t seen much of him since the shooting, Archie claimed his father preferred to hole himself up in the house, not that anyone could blame him. It was comforting to have his presence; he had been the only one to not question her when she told him her plans. He simply nodded his head in acceptance and changed the subject. He was also the only person in the entire town that had helped Betty feel truly absolved of her father’s sins.

Thankfully the stage lights prevented her from seeing much further into the crowd, and to Betty’s relief that meant her mother was also obscured.

When she finally got back to her seat she collapsed into it. The walk to her seat seemed much longer than the walk to the stage. Kevin, who was a row in front of her turned to shoot her a questioning look, but she waved him off. Instead, Betty closed her eyes, the toll of everything was catching up with her. It would be a long day, and the graduation ceremony was only the beginning.

_Forsythe Pendelton Jones III, Yale University_

_Kevin Keller, Carnegie Mellon University_

_Veronica Lodge, Barnard College_

Absentmindedly she smoothed over the creases she had created in the paper, there was no point in giving her mother something else to complain about.

_Antoinette Topaz, Pratt Institute_

_Justin Trammell, North Carolina State University_

_Richard Sanchez, Worcester Polytechnic Institute_

“… Congratulations to our graduating class of 2018!”

A canopy of darkness clouded Betty’s head as two hundred black hats were thrown into the air. Craning her neck, she watched her cap disappear into the cluster.

♚・♕・♚・♕・♚・♕

A sea of black leather turned out to celebrate Jughead’s graduation. Betty had been surprised when Jughead extended the invitation to her a few days ago, but in the spirit of ‘we can still be friends,’ she had agreed to attend. When she told Cheryl she was going the next day, her cousin promised that she would keep Betty company. Annoyingly however, when they arrived today, Cheryl insisted that they should find Toni, which hadn’t taken long, and after an hour of playing the third wheel Betty gave up and left the couple alone. Cheryl had given her an appreciative smile and she hadn’t seen the two since.

From her spot in front of the campfire, Betty watched Jughead, Sweet Pea, Fangs, and a few other Serpents talking by the cooler closest to the entrance of the Wyrm. She had debated going over to join them, but ultimately, she decided that she didn’t have the willpower to smile her way through another hour of awkward conversations. Besides, even though she had made inroads with Sweet Pea and Fangs, that all stemmed from her relationship with Jug. It didn’t take a genius to guess who’s side they would be on post-breakup.

Sitting alone around the others Betty felt like a science experiment. The older Serpents would either glare at her from the loungers they had set up in the grass, or they seemed to have acquired the ability to see right through her and ignored her presence altogether. She wasn’t sure which she preferred.

Only one of them had bothered to approach her, a tall man who she hadn’t recognized, but he seemed to know who she was, which admittedly probably wasn’t that difficult considering that the leather of her jacket still shined and lacked the same wear marks of those around her. He didn’t say much, only offered her one of the beers he was carrying and congratulated her on graduating before wandering off.

The ouroboros on her back had felt heavier in recent months. Without the support of Jughead or anyone else, she wasn’t sure if she would ever learn how to hold its weight – if she even could. She longed to throw it in the back of her closet and forget everything that it represented, but then something would remind her that she was the one to insist on joining, she had written articles in support of the Southside, and she advocated with and for them. Betty would be damned if she was going to let herself be cowed into throwing it all away so easily. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

The wind eventually shifted, the smoke from the fire blowing into her face at a more consistent pace. Reluctant to move, she sat there until her eyes burned with tears forcing her to give up her spot. Not wanting to deal with the stares that would follow her, Betty wandered off again, this time away from the party. She was debating how much longer she could hold out before calling her mother to come to get her, but the need to be away from the Cooper home compelled her to keep walking down 3rd Avenue.

“You’re a bit far from the party Betty,” FP’s gruff voice shocked Betty out of her reverie.

Betty didn’t think anyone else would drift this far from the gathering, and considering he was the father of the party’s celebrant she was even more surprised to find FP leaning against the railing of one of the parked trailers. He was still wearing the same navy button-down that she had seen him in during the graduation luncheon, but his tie was missing, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were now undone. The dark edges of a tattoo peeked out from under his cuffed sleeves. His jacket was folded in half, resting beside him on the railing.

She shrugged, and motioned to the landing he was on, “Can I join you up there?”

Not waiting for a reply, she moved to stand beside him. The wood porch groaned under her added weight. Peering out, she could only just see the reddish-orange glow of the bonfire through the gap between the two trailers across from them.

“This isn’t your trailer,” she remarked offhandedly. This trailer was smaller than the Jones’ and there were flowers planted in a box under the window – most likely anemones, she mused. The welcome mat under her feet was new too, or at least well cared for. Whoever’s trailer this was, they clearly took a lot of care to maintain everything.

“Brydie’s, I needed a change of scenery.” Glancing down at the beer can Betty still held, FP asked, “Where’d you get that?”

“Oh, one of the older Serpents? He gave it to me. FP, I swear he was almost seven feet tall. I don’t know how I’ve never seen him before,” her nose wrinkled. “Don’t tell him but he needed a shower.”

FP couldn’t help but laugh, “That sounds like Peaches, he works as a sanitation engineer a few towns over. His wife always complains about the same thing. Every time she swears that no matter how much he showered, or how much she washed his clothes the smell still stuck to him. She’s put it off as a lost cause now.”

Taking a sip of their respective drinks, they fell into a comfortable silence.

Betty studied FP from the corner of her eye. As a child, Betty remembered being frightened by his presence. FP had always seemed so foreboding, with dark circles around his eyes and cuts and gashes that marred his face. When she was six, she remembered believing for a while that he had some kind of condition that permanently caused his fingers and knuckles to be blotched with hues of blues and purples. Her mother laughed when Betty asked her about it one day, and instead she used it as a scare tactic and acted as if it were a disease that could be contracted.

The vestiges of the past had never really been erased. If anything, they seemed to be more permanent now. He was very much still the personification of rough and tumble come alive, as cuts and scrapes turned into permanent scars. He was weathered by the years of fights and stress. Even the way he stood, muscles tensed, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings screamed danger. It should make him appear to be more domineering, be enough for someone to second guess approaching him. But in the short months that had passed, Betty had grown used to it. Somehow it made her feel calmer, it wasn’t the true lull of peacefulness, but it was capable of waylaying the turbulent waves. It also gave her an odd sense of comfort, and a part of her also felt safer beside him.

She wasn’t even exactly sure when the change occurred. She didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it either. Perhaps a part of it stemmed from coming to know him as a leader in recent months. All she knew was that at some point, she became disillusioned to every nightmare scenario her mother had ever told her about the Southside and its inhabitants. Reflecting back, it was reasonable to assume that Jughead most likely had been a catalyst in the change. It was through him she had come to know the Serpents on her own terms. In doing so, she had learned that while she may outwardly look like a pink Unicorn amongst them, as a part of the Serpents and with Jug’s support she at least didn't feel the same need to be subservient to whatever expectations people had of her. Rather they made her feel braver. And bolder. It had been a major turning point for her, and an integral instrument in her decision to defer her offers of admission.

All of those emotions and experiences were encapsulated by the man standing next to her.

It could be accredited to Veronica, and too many bottles of overpriced alcohol, that Betty had also become aware of how appealing she found those same qualities. Or more specifically the person with those qualities she deemed attractive. It had happened one evening after giggling over whatever bottle of expensive liquor Veronica had managed to steal from the wine cellar of the Pembroke. On glass one, they discussed Archie and Jughead. Glass two was reserved for celebrities. Glass three was when things got hazy. Betty vaguely remembered discussing all the qualities she found attractive, and when Veronica asked if she meant Jughead, Betty shook her head as FP’s name fell from her lips intuitively.

After that revelation, they had made an event out of it, and it quickly became a favourite game of theirs. Sworn to secrecy, they had discussed many fantasies, some mundane, others were much more _evocative_.

FP’s arm brushed against her, as he shifted to better face her, breaking her out of her thoughts. Smiling, he tilted his cup towards her, “I suppose I should be offering you my congratulations.”

“Technically you still haven’t,” Betty teased.

“Now you’re just making me look bad,” FP quipped, taking note of how she seemed so much more at ease now than she had had during the ceremony earlier. “Congratulations Betty.”

“Thank you.”

They fell into easy conversation soon after. She spoke to him about what her friends’ plans were after graduating, where they were going, and what they were planning on studying. When he had bashfully asked her to explain exactly what Jug was going to Yale for, she laughed before launching into a full explanation of the program. Her cerulean eyes were bright as she spoke wistfully in detail about a long line of Yale alumni and all they’re accreditations for work in journalism and literature. He was again reminded of his surprise when Jughead had mentioned in passing that Betty wouldn’t be joining him at Yale.

FP immediately regretted broaching the subject as she visibly deflated at the question. The defeat in her voice when she asked him if he thought she was making a mistake with her life ignited a wave of anger that made him want to protect her from anyone who had ever made her feel inferior.

“Betty, it’s your choice, if you want to wait a year, then just wait a year, or however long you want,” he offered, trying to smooth things over. “I’m not an expert on leading the best life. But from what I’ve observed, people are often too quick to jump into a situation that they were never prepared for. For a while, they’re able to keep themselves afloat, but by the time they realize they’re in too deep, that’s when it’s already too late. I don’t know if it matters if you went now or later. What I do think matters, is that you’re not wasting time while you figure it all out. Make sure you have your life vest before you start swimming in the ocean Betty.”

“For what it’s worth I know you’re trying now. Jug sees it too, he’s said that much to me,” she said, offering him a half-smile. “Sometimes I still wish I could take a page out of Cheryl’s book and burn everything down and start over.”

“Ah, well I can’t help you with that for another two years, it’d be a bit of a parole violation and all,” FP joked. “But we can start smaller; when was the last time you did something purely for you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay, so what’s something that you’ve wanted to do but couldn’t?”

“Ride a bike.”

FP snorted, “Betty Cooper has never ridden a bike?”

Betty swatted his arm playfully, “Don’t be ridiculous. I mean a motorcycle.”

“Ah… I don’t even need to ask why do I?” He could vividly imagine the vein in Alice’s neck bulging if she ever saw her daughter on a motorcycle. “How about I teach you how to drive one instead?”

“You would do that?”

“Why not? Almost every Serpent drives one anyway, you should at least know how.”

“Alright then,” she said, beaming up at him. Placing her cup on the banister, unthinkingly Betty stepped forward into FP, wrapping her arms around his neck in a lose hug. Surprised by the action, FP’s arms hung loosely at his sides before tentatively wrapping around her low back. Squeezing him gently, she felt his breath hitch against her cheek as she took a half step back.

“Betty,” he warned gently, his voice concealing the effort he was taking to not think about how captivated he was by the discovery of the faint amber freckles that dusted Betty’s cheeks.

Her head tilted upwards to the sound of his voice, her gaze flickered to his lips, before meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?” She whispered, her breath washing over his face. He could smell the mix of beer, mint, and strawberries. He watched as the tip of her tongue peeked out to wet her lips briefly.

One last breath was exchanged between them before she tentatively brushed her lips against his own. Like silk against sandpaper, it was so soft and sweet in passing he almost thought he had imagined it.

He felt, rather than heard, the little gasp she made before their lips met for a second time, more firmly against one another. This time he was prepared. His mouth closed over her own, silencing any sound she made. His tongue brushed alongside her bottom lip, then gently teased into her mouth through her parted lips, tasting her.

Her fingers wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, it was soft and smooth under her fingertips.

Scratching and pulling lightly, Betty pressed her body further into his. They moulded seamlessly together.

Dropping his empty cup, he brought his left hand up to her side, trailing it down her body, pausing momentarily to let his thumb reverently sweep the swell of her breast, eliciting her lips to part against his own again.

His other hand ran along her spine, leaving goosebumps and warmth that trailed like a comet’s tail behind each caress.

A glorious burn spread through her muscles as a fire began burning in her core.

His touches grounded her in reality, yet also set her afloat. Provoking feelings she didn’t know existed. It was so beautifully overwhelming to be pulled in so many directions.

Everything inside her was alive. For once, she didn’t have the ability to feel anything other than him.

His lips never left hers as they continued to explore each other, both taking turns dominating the kiss. Gentle probing soon turned into sloppy, more vigorous actions as they both grew bolder and more comfortable.

It was addicting, the way he tasted, the way they tasted together – sweet strawberries and the spicy bitterness of Marlboro’s.

There was no warning when FP lifted Betty off the ground. The hand that had rested on her waist moved to the underside of her left thigh, supporting her weight. The rough pads of his fingertips dipped into the flesh just under the hem of her dress. FP’s other arm wrapped around her low back, his hand kneading the flesh of her arse as he pulled her closer into him.

Betty was too distracted to care where he was taking her. Instead, she focused her attention on freeing the hand that was trapped between their torsos. She caressed his chest before snaking her hand under the hem of his shirt. Her fingers blindly explored along the contours of his stomach. His muscles would tense under her ministrations, delighting her.

Betty’s eyes shot open as the underside of her thighs made contact with the cool wood banister. Perched on the railing, FP stood between her open thighs.

Still pressed against him, their chests heaved in unison. She was suddenly aware that she could _feel_ every part of him, from his breath fanning the loose tendrils of her hair away from her face, to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against her palm. But most prominently, she could feel just how much he was affected by her against her inner thigh. Her face burned at the realization. The wetness that gathered between the apex of her legs only stoked the fire burning in the pit of her stomach.

“I can feel you,” she whimpered.

“I’m sorry.” Fearing that he had made her uncomfortable, FP shuffled awkwardly trying to create a little distance between them, but her knees squeezed against his hip, halting his retreat. His eyes searched her face for a brief moment. He couldn’t help the way his pupils dilated into a predatory gaze at the sight of her hooded eyes and the lipstick that was smeared around her puffy lips.

_Fuck._

He couldn’t recall ever feeling so enraptured by a simple kiss before. It was terrifying how easily she was able to elicit a reaction so quickly from him. It was also enchanting.

His hand cupped her face, “Betty.”

She leaned into his touch. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered, before planting an open-mouthed kiss to his palm.

His sharp intake of air was all she heard before FP ducked his head. Trailing his lips along the underside of her jaw, he pressed wet kisses to her flushed skin. Tangling his hand in her hair, he used it to tilt her head back, exposing more of her neck to his perusal.

His tongue laved over her pulse point, as he fought the primal desire to leave his mark on her. Instead he trailed further down, where he indulged himself by nipping at the juncture between her neck and collar bone.

Betty whimpered in protest when he pulled away from her, but it was quickly swallowed by FP as he came up to place another bruising kiss to her lips. Liquid fire continued to flood her lower abdomen. FP had made her entire body feel like one continuous erogenous zone.

It was as if they were both woken up after a dreamless sleep when they heard raucous laughter approaching. But neither one of them moved to pull apart immediately – both unwilling to burst the cocoon around them. It was selfish, but FP enjoyed the feeling of her skin against his own too much to let go completely. The rough pads of his fingertips ran abstract patterns over the small raised birthmark on her inner thigh.

Lazily, FP allowed himself to chastely peck her lips once more. He repeated the action against her cheek, and the tip of her nose, before placing one last lingering kiss against the crown of her head.

As the voices grew nearer. FP finally pulled away to stand next to where Betty was perched. The fabric of her dress acted as an unwanted barrier between her thigh and his forearm.

Betty already missed the warmth of FP – the chasm between them already seemed too big, making her feel cold. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to be enveloped and consumed by him again.

There was a sense of satisfaction when Betty chanced a glance up at FP through her lashes, and saw that he looked just as dishevelled as she was. There was also an odd feeling of power in seeing how she had been able to reduce the usually stoic man into a pubescent teen.

Unable to look FP in the eyes for long, Betty turned away to play with the ruffles on her dress.

Her distraction provided FP with the opportunity to watch Betty. He was once again taken aback by the now woman beside him. FP saw no point in denying that he thought Betty was beautiful. He believed it to be just as pointless to deny that he hadn’t noticed the way her body had adopted her feminine curves with grace. The white dress she was wearing did nothing to dissuade his opinions on the matter. It was tight to her figure, stopping just above her knees, and the bodice was detailed in a way that accentuated the fullness of her breasts as her chest rose and fell with each breath. The entire thing was being held up by two makeshift straps that were tied into bows.

It was dangerously distracting.

As was the woman wearing it.

He had come to learn that type-casting her as the girl-next-door would be only to one’s detriment. Often, he overheard Jug commenting on how Betty was an enigma, and at first, FP hadn’t understood. Now he wondered how he had missed it. She was a V8 engine amongst a sea of inline 6’s – inherently unbalanced, but that’s what made them both charismatically beautiful.

Morse so, he didn’t know exactly when the trio of Betty, Jughead, and Archie grew into adults. His heart hurt to think about all the missed moments in Jug’s life. He had come so far, they all had, no longer were they children chasing after one another along the shores of Sweetwater river, or crying in the Andrews’ backyard because of scraped elbows and bruised knees. A wave of solemnness washed over him for the second time that day as he was once again confronted with the fact that his son – and his friends – had already accomplished more than FP had to date. It was a depressing train of thought that he usually tried to avoid.

It still crept up on him of course. On days like today where he watched his son accomplish another milestone that he had never reached, other times it was in the dead of night when he had nothing else to occupy his mind. What felt like a millennium ago someone had suggested smoking as a way to ease the ache, but two years later, when a pack a day was no longer capable of keeping his hands and mind occupied, he had followed in the footsteps of his father. After all, it worked for FP I.

It took FP much longer than it should have to notice how bad his dependence on alcohol as a vice had gotten. Looking back, he didn’t understand how he could have been so blind as to miss the signs when Gladys and Jellybean left, how his son had chosen to be homeless rather than live at home, or how he almost ruined the Serpents. It was supposed to have been a temporary crutch, but it ended up disabling him. He never meant for it to get that bad – granted, everyone in his AA group thought that too. FP had been a failure then, and he’d argue with his dying breath that he still was one today.

He knew he ought to be doing better now, his sponsor seemed to think he was every time they spoke. However, he hadn’t felt anywhere near the same amount of enthusiasm that her voice portrayed every time she told him how happy and proud she was of him for reaching another milestone, big or small. It seemed like more false hope and promises to him, and that was exactly what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He could feel his heart rate picking up. The adrenaline rush of earlier was now working against him in a pattern that FP was all too familiar with.

Leaning further over the railing, FP bent so that his forehead rested against his arms, willing his train of thought to end so that he could regain his composure. This close to the edge, he could already feel that his breathing was becoming erratic.

_Breathe in. One, two, three, four._

His thoughts continued to traverse carelessly through the minefield.

_Hold. One, two, three, four._

Too fast.

_Breathe out. One, two, three, four._

It was too much.

_Hold. One, two, three, four._

He wanted to go back to where he was minutes ago.

_Breathe in. One, two, three, four._

Why couldn’t he go back?

_Hold. One, two, three, four._

_Fuck_. The muscles in his chest burned each time they were forced to expand. His peripheral vision began to blur, colours and objects blending into large indistinguishable blobs.

Softly, Betty asked, “Are you okay?” Noticing the sudden change in FP’s demeanour, Betty cautiously reached out towards him, making sure that he had enough time to see and react to her movements. Briefly she placed her hand on his arm, keeping her touch light, but before she could pull completely away from him, he grabbed at her hand, halting her retreat.

When he finally looked at her, his eyes were wide and unfocused, a sheen of sweat was visible on his brow.

“Wait…please,” the grip on her wrist tightened, his voice trembling, “Just talk to me please…about anything…just something.”

Unsure of exactly what to say Betty spoke about the first thing that came to her mind. She told him about the ’67 Mustang she and her father had been restoring before he’d become that _thing._ She recently decided to complete the project on her own, but was having difficulty sourcing some parts specific to the car. For a few minutes it seemed to be helping, the grip on her hand had lessened, and his breathing, while still laboured, had evened out.

The temporary improvement, however, hadn’t lasted long. FP became unresponsive again midway through her tirade. She was internally debating whether leaving FP to find Jughead would be a good idea, when he abruptly pulled away, taking a step backwards so that his back rested against the cool metal of the trailer. Dropping to her knees, Betty followed FP’s motions as he crumpled to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

FP could faintly make out the concerned look on Betty’s face. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t understand anything, the blood that pounded in his ears was drowning out everything around him. The hazy cloud that had settled over his eyes prevented him from being able to parse out the shapes her lips were making.

His stomach lurched. Digging into his front pocket, FP pulled out a small orange prescription bottle. His hands fumbled as he tried to open the safety cap, each unsuccessful attempt increased his frustration as his hands continued to shake violently.

A lump had formed in his throat, but Betty seemed to understand his intention as he held the rattling bottle out towards her.

Saying nothing Betty knelt beside FP, taking the bottle from him, she opened it and cupped his palm to hold it steady. Tapping the side of the container, she dropped out a blue pill into his open hand.

“One?”

FP shook his head.

Dropping a second pill into his palm she tried again, “Two?”

He nodded, his knuckles turned white under the force he was using to keep his fist closed around the pills.

“FP?” She lilted, moving to stand. “I’m going to run over to the Wyrm to get you some water. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“No!” he rasped, stopping her movement.

“FP, but-”

“Stay,” he begged before making a show of dry swallowing the pills.

Betty studied him for a moment before acquiescing to his request. She repositioned herself so that she sat next to him. Occasionally, when she thought it was safe, she would watch him out of the corner of her eye. Each time she was greeted with the same striking image: the man she had always thought of as being brash, tough, and powerful looked more like a broken man who was tired of the world.

Both lost in their own thoughts, nothing else was said between them that night as they watched the dwindling flicker of the bonfire in the distance.

♚・♕・♚・♕・♚・♕

It was only sometime around eleven in the morning, but FP was exhausted. He hadn’t slept most of the night, the medication had only helped to ease the physical effects but had done nothing to waylay his meandering thoughts. Just as his body and mind were finally giving in to sleep, Jug had barged into his room and started talking. He could sense the urgency in Jug’s voice as he stared blankly at the water stain on the ceiling, he tried to listen to what Jug was saying for the first few minutes, but everything was muddled in his mind - words and sentences were running into each other. If he had any chance of being alert enough to understand what was going on, he would need coffee.

To his annoyance, there wasn’t any form of caffeine in the trailer. Thankfully FP convinced Jug that whatever he had to say could wait until they each had full stomachs and a cup of bottomless coffee in front of them.

Pop had been a blessing that morning. Greeting them, he instructed the father and son pairing to grab a seat at an open booth and promised that he’d have Mary bring something out for them as soon as possible.

Sometimes, FP wondered if Pop was psychic, or just that good at reading people, as it had only taken a few minutes before two plates of breakfast and a fresh pot of coffee made its way to their table. Steam rose from the coffee pot, already helping to ebb away the exhaustion that FP felt.

Thanking Mary, Jug uncharacteristically ignored the food she placed in front of him and continued exactly where he’d left off in the trailer. “I know we talked about your plan to retire and naming me as King when I graduated, but I can’t do it dad.” Jug fiddled with the napkin holder before looking back up at his father. “I’m going to Yale. It’s over a hundred miles away, it’s impractical. The gang needs a leader at ground zero, not someone dictating things from the sidelines. But I also know that you want to retire. I can see how tired you are, even when you try to hide it. I plan on abdicating when you call on me later.”

Taking the time to think over what Jug had said, FP busied himself as he poured an open packet of milk into his cup. “To who Jug? Aren’t all your friends going away too? You’re not planning on someone like Tall Boy again?”

He had prepared for this; it was logical. He couldn’t fault Jug’s reasoning, but that didn’t stop the ache in his heart. It was incredibly selfish, and he was entirely undeserving, but he was man enough to admit that he would be lying if he said he hadn’t wished that Jug would stay with him and go to a school nearby.

“No dad, we both know how that went,” Stalling, Jug cut his pancakes into small pieces with surgical-like precision, “I still think it should be Betty. She’s in a better position for the role anyway.”

Hearing Betty’s name caused FP to choke on his coffee. They had talked about a lot of scenarios, and of course her name had come up. Jug had been adamant at the time that he had only one person in mind and claimed that she was “exactly what the Serpents needed”. FP didn’t know what to make of that, and Jug never elaborated. All FP knew, was that every time Jug brought it up, the only thing he heard were the echoes of the Northside blaming him for stealing and corrupting their perfect princess. Since their breakup, however, Jug had been fairly mum about her, and FP had taken that to mean that Jughead no longer considered her as an option.

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Alice was going to kill him in new and inventive ways for allowing this if she didn’t burn the entire Southside down first.

Glancing over the edge of his cup at Jug, FP asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you going to finish that?” Jug asked. FP shook his head, pushing the plate of untouched toast towards him. Jug took a bite before continuing, “You said you trusted me to make this decision.”

“I did. I do. It’s just-.” He hadn’t meant to come across as if he doubted his son, he didn’t. In fact, FP had truly believed for a long time that Jughead would be the leader the Serpents desperately needed. What he did doubt, was the Serpents and their willingness to accept another massive change. Especially, a change that came wrapped in a pastel pink box with the words _‘Former Northside Princess’_ written on the gift tag. “They’re not going to accept her as the Queen just because you or I say so.”

“Why not? Betty did the dance, she has the jacket, she’s a serpent. She has just as much right to it as anyone else. They would have accepted me – they’re preparing to do that right now – and I too was an outcast until recently.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” FP sighed, he didn’t bother to mention that they had been begrudgingly willing, or that it took cashing in on quite a few favours to get people on board. “That would be a different situation, you’re my son, it would be … expected. Whether you want to accept it or not, the others believe that it’s in our blood. To the Serpents we are familiar, they’ve known our family for generations. Anyone else, even another serpent, was always going to be a difficult sale. But someone outside of the Serpents? That’s unprecedented territory, there’s no case law for this situation.”

“Well, how do we get people on board?”

FP scrubbed his face, _probably by running the full initiation for starters_. He knew it was misogynistic, but it would probably be the first thing that some of the men would say. FP could already feel the pinching in the base of his skull from the numerous arguments he was certain would eventually happen if Jug got his way. He had already tried to get rid of both initiations in favour of something more modern years ago, but he had been steamrolled and persuaded to leave things as they were.

He didn’t realize he had spoken out loud, until Jug cut in, his voice brokered no argument, “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know what to tell you boy, the dance is considered different from the initiation you did. The initiation ritual that you did was designed as a series of tests to teach the laws. It forces you to understand them, and it tests how well you can uphold those laws under pressure. It also builds a camaraderie between you and the others. The gauntlet has its issues, but the dance... well let’s be frank, it’s a drunk man’s fantasy.”

“So, we change it.”

“And who exactly are you going to put in charge of that? Don’t forget that you will still have to convince them of that change too. That’s a lot to do before you leave in a week.”

“You?” Jug winced. Pleading with FP, he continued, “Do this, get her situated, then you can go into full retirement mode. Vacations in the Florida Keys and all.”

“Very funny,” the corner of FP’s mouth tipped upwards into a smirk. His face faltered as he considered the plan. “Jug, that is not a good idea.”

“But you’ll do it?”

The thought of having to spend the foreseeable future with Betty caused his mind to flood with flashbacks of the night prior. Reminding him of the way she felt against him, of the softness of her skin under his lips, and of the sounds she made as his hands trailed against her skin.

Instinctively his tongue darted out to swipe over his bottom lip, he could feel the impressions her teeth had made, and could taste the phantom remainders of her. He was still embarrassed by how much she had affected him. He wanted to see if everything he had felt last night was real, or if he had somehow dreamt up the entire event. Mostly, he was terrified by how much he desired to learn more about her, not only about the ways he could elicit a moan from her lips, but also about what made her, _her._

Sighing, he knew he was going to regret this. “Okay.”

♚・♕・♚・♕・♚・♕

The _Serpentina_ banner flapped in the wind behind where FP stood on the makeshift platform. Heavy smoke billowed from the campfires and portable grills that were haphazardly set up in front of numerous tents. If the breeze blew just right, he could smell the pungent odour of Hog Eye’s _special brew_. The crowd seemed to be vibrating with energy, looking for any indication of what was to come. FP had made no disillusions to the fact he was ready to step down. Nor was the timing of it all particularly remarkable. Generations of Jones’ men had taken the reins from their fathers at the age of eighteen, and at this point it was almost a tradition people had come to expect.

Empty beer can and gas tanks littered the ground, no doubt at some point in the night some of the Serpents had decided to make camp after the party on the banks of Crystal Lake. Peaches caught his eye, motioning to the grill he was tending he made a gesture as if he was eating. Laughing FP gave a short wave of acknowledgement but shook his head to decline the offer.

His stomach was still turning after he had caught sight of two familiar heads of blonde hair, and he’d been barely able to contain his reaction to another reminder of how fucked up everything in his life was.

“Are you ready?” Jug asked, coming to stand next to FP.

Nodding, FP raised his left hand above his head, his index and middle fingers extended from his closed fist and were curled slightly in the air. His shrill whistle commanded a nearly instantaneous hush to settle over the crowd.

The weight of everything that was about to happen seemed so much more real than in the diner with Jug. His hand ghosted over his pocket, checking to make sure the familiar round lump was there. _Give me strength,_ he prayed _._

“Thank you all for coming, this week has been an important milestone in the history of the Serpents,” pausing, he waved forward the group of recent graduates who had been clustered in the corner by the tailgate of a green Chevy, “I’m confident, as your leader and as a father, that I can stand here and say on behalf of all the Serpents, we are so proud of each and every one of you for graduating.”

Unable to stop himself, FP clapped Jug on the shoulder. For once in his life, he felt like a normal father. Beaming, he continued, “My boy is ‘gonna be the first Jones man to go to college! My boy isn’t the only one, for the first time in our history, over half of our kids who have graduated, will be going away to college as well!”

The roaring applause that followed echoed off the trees.

“There is more to celebrate today. Many of you have come to expect this, after all this is where my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather all made a similar announcement. This spot is more than that however, on these same riverbanks, some ninety years ago, the very first Serpent meeting took place. It makes sense that this is where I -. Where, on the heels of this momentous occasion, I continue the tradition, and I say my goodbyes.” Turning to Jughead, he took in his son. He needed to trust Jug, as a man and as a leader in his own right. He reminded himself that this was what Jug wanted, what he thought was best.

Chocked up on emotion, he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves.

“Dad, you deserved this long ago,” Jughead whispered in reassurance. “It’s okay to let go.”

“Soon,” he quipped, but it fell flat under the weight of his tongue. He took another deep breath, then addressed the crowd again, “I’m retiring from the Serpents. For real this time. Now, my boy, has never stopped fighting for this crew, hell he almost died for it. It’s why I wanted to give him the mantle. But Jug-.”

Jug stepped forward, cutting in, “I recognize that my absence and divided attention are not what the Serpents need. It’s not what they deserve.” The crowd grew louder, and FP could already hear the whispers of confusion beginning. “Riverdale is changing, the Southside and the Serpents will need to change too. We cannot afford to allow ourselves to be defined by our cardinal position on a map much longer. It will become a matter of change or risk being consumed by Northside propaganda. We do not need another Hiram Lodge infiltrating our ranks again,” Jug remarked, glaring in the direction of Tall Boy, who seemed to be attempting to shrink into himself.

“The Serpents will need to be the best we can be, but at the same time, we need to be prepared to cut off a limb to save the body. The Serpents need someone who won’t just follow in the footsteps of leaders past, but rather someone who is able to help propel us forwards, with their boots on the ground, fighting in the battle here on home turf,” FP carried on. Jug and him were in this together and they would need to stand as a united front if they had any chance of convincing the others.

“It’s why I’ve decided to abdicate as King in favour of a Queen.” Exactly four seconds after Jug’s announcement, chaos descended.

Shrugging off his jacket, FP pulled a long breath. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he stepped off the platform. As he forced his way through the crowd, random hands and voices tried to stop him as their whispers turned into shouts of outrage and disapproval. Coming to a stand near the back of the crowd, the roar only became louder.

Alice stood behind her daughter, sticking out like a sore thumb in her Stepford wife attire. The look she was giving him bordered a strange combination of murderous and proud. FP would have laughed at any other time at the sight of Alice’s mouth gaping open and closed as she struggled to find anything to say, but a fresh wave of guilt reminded him that she of all people would recognize the significance of the proceedings. A look passed between them, no doubt she was trying to gauge his intentions, and he willed his eyes to convey that he wouldn’t let what happened in the past happen again.

Mercifully, whatever she saw in his face must have been enough for her, as she nodded once before taking a small step back.

Dropping his gaze to Betty, FP beckoned her to stand.

From his place on the stage, Jughead’s voice rang out like church bells, “The mantle now belongs to Elizabeth Cooper.”

At the sound of her name, Betty’s eyes widened as she looked at him incredulously. He could practically see the questions that were passing through her mind. He cringed internally, knowing that he didn’t have the time, nor was he prepared, to answer them in that moment.

Alice leaned forward to hastily whisper, what he hoped were the instructions on what was to follow, into Betty’s ear.

“An ouroboros sheds its skin,” he began, nodding in encouragement as she sluggishly removed her jacket.

“As the Amphisbaena is reborn,” she finished, handing her jacket to him.

He waited just long enough to take in the sight of Betty dwarfed in ~~his~~ _her_ jacket before turning back, disappearing into the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you're at the end!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and want to stick around for more.
> 
> For updates and to see what else I'm working on you can find me on [TUMBLR](https://elizastormborn.tumblr.com).  
> You can also check out this story's dedicated page [HERE](https://elizastormborn.tumblr.com/shehadthemakingsofaqueen) for some behind the scenes fun.
> 
> Stay safe!


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